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THE WITCH 

OF 

TUNTHORNE GORE 

By 30 1 

JOHN WILLIAMS ROBBINS 


A Souvenance of Despoliation 


The Beldame Beguiles Farmer Barden’s Bees 
The Beldame Bewitches the “Noon Freight” 
The Beldame Bedevils a Bean Supper 
The Beldame Bewitches Mr. Upling’s Divining Rod 
The Beldame Disturbs Mr. Redbird’s Siesta 
The Beldame Agitates the Parish Bell Rope 


Copyright 

By J. W. ROBBINS, 1922 



FOREWORD 

The heart of the Northern hills is cleft in twain 
by a long deep valley through which the Wassepe- 
midget hurries, on its quest of Nirvana in the bosom 
of the Salt Seas. In the midst of this vale lies the 
township of Tunthorne, wherein it is assumed 
occurred the bewitchery forming the substance of 
these tales. Forest clad mountains rise from the 
broad intervales bordered or bisected by the hasten- 
ing stream, and narrow highways stretch up and 
down, now crossing the river by time-worn bridge 
or tortuous ford or anon climbing the steep foot- 
hills in search of the weather-worn farmhouse or the 
invading summer cottage. An attenuated hamlet is 
Tunthorne, having as its most conspicuous edifice the 
white meeting house under the crag, a plain rec- 
tangular structure with a dumpy belfry crowning 
the front gable, an index of the austere faith propa- 
gated within. In this bucolic mountain community 
there appeared simultaneously three factors des- 
tined to bring about alterations terrestrial and even 
celestial. The exploitation of the vast forests by 
ruthless corporations, the influx of a certain group 
of summer residents, mostly citizens of the great 
city of Buh, and the advent of the Beldame Grue- 
bodie the old witch who had appropriated according 
to common report an abandoned farmhouse in the 
section of the town known as the “Gore” and 
whose malicious tantrums are recorded in the fol- 
lowing narratives. 


© CL A 654419 

JAN 3. i922 


THE BELDAME BEGUILES FARMER 
BARDEN’S BEES 


Farmer Barden took great pleasure in looking 
over his broad acres which — thanks to a kindly sea- 
son — teemed with promising crops in field and gar- 
den. The grass lands especially were abloom with 
myriad daisy and clover blossoms and even the 
grain fields were set in frames of resplendent color 
along the dividing walls and fences while the home- 
stead itself was surrounded by gardens of flowers. 
Flocks of poultry roamed about, sleek cattle grazed 
in the fresh pasturage and the woodlands echoed 
with the melody of song birds. 

At the rear of the dwelling along the back wall 
of the home-lot under some large apple trees was 
a colony of bees housed in a long row of neatly 
painted hives, and above all the varied interests of 
the farm the heart of Farmer Barden was set on 
his apiary. And no one in the valley produced such 
quantities of fine flavored honey. These bees were 
his hobby, and the pride of the farm, and to and 
fro between the hives and the blooming fields and 
gardens myriads of the busy insects were continu- 
ally passing and flowers of all sorts and hues were 
visited and the pollen extracted and borne on the 
thighs of the bees and packed in the combs prepared 
to receive it. 

Very early one morning Farmer Barden drove 
down the hill whereon the farm buildings stood, 
behind a pair of fine horses on a visit to a distant 
town and as he looked around over his beautiful 
farm it seemed a veritable paradise. And all day 
long during his long drive his mind dwelt continu- 
ally on the lovely aspect of his home. 

3 


So on his return in the late afternoon, expecting 
to look again on the beautiful scene, his amazement 
at what met his eyes can hardly be conceived, for a 
weird and uncanny vision lay before his astonished 
gaze as he approached. Instead of the bloom of the 
morning, an awful waste of barren and blasted fields 
and shriveled foliage with blackened tufts in place 
of the flowers changed his pride and admiration to 
horror and dismay. 

He hastened on and half way up the hill he met 
his household and farmhands who came to meet him 
with sad and awestricken faces and to his eager in- 
quiries they could give no reply that adequately ex- 
plained the dire transformation — they could only say 
the change began early in the day and the awful 
work was soon complete. What had caused it they 
did not know. They could only surmise it was the 
work of Beldame Gruebodie the “Gore” witch. 

Farmer Barden was of the same mind and with 
flagging steps and almost a broken heart he went 
about and noted his withered and devastated fields. 
Even his flocks and herds huddled together as if 
under some strange spell. 

Finally he bethought him of his beloved bees and 
hastily approached the long row of hives followed 
by his whole household who had not thought of in- 
vestigating them before. Their amazement and dis- 
may was trebled at what they saw. 

Issuing from the small round doors and swarm- 
ing in angry masses over the hives were the bees, 
but not the bees they were wont to see. A fear- 
ful change had taken place in them. Instead of 
the black and brown tones of their bodies an intense 
fiery scarlet had been substituted with strangely 
scintillating wings. Their state of mind also 
seemed to be indexed by the warm hue of their 
bodies and they were evidently in such an angry 
mood that even Farmer Barden himself dared not 
approach too near. 


4 


Nevertheless he got near enough to one of the 
hives to note that just inside the door was a bee 
still of the natural appearance and color. But it 
emerged from the hive and to the farmer’s horror 
was instantly changed to the fiery hue of his fellows 
as it passed through the door. It flew about in an 
uncertain zigzag course very unlike a normal bee 
and the farmer followed him until he saw him alight 
upon a small blossom in the garden that had 
escaped the general fate and at once its bright colors 
vanished and another blackened tuft was added to 
the universal ruin. 

The problem was solved, the bees had been be- 
witched, just how was not apparent, but Farmer 
Barden determined to know. After nightfall he 
visited the hives again and around each door glared 
a phosphorescent circle of fire that was invisible in 
the daylight. 

He groaned and shaking his fists in the direction 
of the “Gore” returned sadly to the house. The old 
witch had indeed paid him a call with dire conse- 
quences. The night before she had visited the hives 
and with her terrible staff had drawn around each 
door the circle of fire that had the next day trans- 
formed the bees, once the Farmer’s pride into a 
destroying host to change his fine farm into what 
was almost a desert. Why she had done this he did 
not know but surmised that she might have “listened 
in” with the magic staff when he used his telephone 
to call a meeting of the Board of Selectmen, he be- 
ing the chairman, to take up the matter of her 
lawless residence in the town. 


5 


THE BELDAME BEWITCHES THE 
“NOON FREIGHT” 

There was no movement in the sultry air that had 
settled over the broad intervale at Tunthorne. Even 
the “noon freight” bound down the “W. V.”, with 
Conductor Dunham sizzling under the monitor of 
the caboose, had failed to stir, more than tempo- 
rarily, the atmosphere. The bench at the door of 
the little station upheld the portly figure of Station 
Master Dolken, in a vain attempt to obtain respite 
from the prevailing heat; failing in which, he un- 
hitched his horse, tethered in the shade of the 
“Bottling Works”, drove home, ate a spare lunch, 
and then began the ascent of the mountain behind 
his house in quest of cooler air. This he did not 
find until, after repeated clamberings, alternating 
with breathless rests, he reached a point high above 
the valley, seldom visited. 

Seating himself on a boulder, at the foot of a large 
tree, he enjoyed the gentle breeze which he found 
there and the extended view of the valley below, 
with the Wassepemidget marking a silvery line 
through the midsummer verdure. 

On hearing a slight noise, at one side toward the 
rear, and turning to look that way, he was some- 
what startled to see approaching him so strange a 
figure that his first impulse was to beat a retreat 
down the mountain; but being a man of nerve he 
held his ground. 

A little old woman, bent and wrinkled, and cov- 
ered with a long, faded and tattered, red cloak, a 
steeple crown hat on her head, and a long staff in 
her hand, was making her way quickly over the 
rough stones in his direction. The expression of 
her face was unpleasant, and little, sharp, piercing 


6 


gray eyes fairly glistened from beneath shaggy eye- 
brows, in such an uncanny way as to make Mr. 
Dolken rather uncomfortable. 

Coming to within a few feet of him and resting 
both hands at the top of her staff, she looked steadily 
at him for some time. Then, in a high-keyed, rasp- 
ing voice, “Do you know me?” she asked. 

The Depot Master, irritated by her intrusion 
after his strenuous climb in the heat, said he had 
never seen her before, but guessed she was the old 
witch that they called Beldame Gruebodie, from the 
“Gore”. 

Striking her staff sharply on the ground, and 
shaking her finger in his direction, her eyes flashing 
angrily, she said, “Madam Gruebodie, sir! I am 
aware, sir, that the people of the valley call me 
‘Beldame’ and I would have you to know that they 
do so at their peril.” Then after a pause and with a 
malevolent leer she inquired where the railroad peo- 
ple obtained the coal used to make steam that pro- 
pelled the engines on their trips up and down the 
valley. 

“From the State of Vainsilpennia” said Mr. Dolken 
thinking it best to be courteous. 

“That is a long way from here, isn’t it?” she 
asked. 

“Yes it is” was his reply. 

“Suppose coal could be had dug from this very 
mountain, would the railroad use it?” was her next 
question. 

He told her the railroad would be very glad to ob- 
tain coal as near as the mountain they were on, as 
it would make a great difference, in their favor, in 
the cost of the coal. 

“Well”, said she, “there is coal right on this 
mountain, quantities of it.” 

Mr. Dolken simply said, “I have never seen it”. 

“Then come with me,” was her only reply, as she 
turned and began to climb quickly up the mountain. 

7 


With a little hesitation Mr. Dolken arose and fol- 
lowed. Some distance up, after turning the corner 
of a great boulder, she stopped and when he came 
up to her pointed to a dark rock, lying on the ground, 
about as large as his head. 

“That is coal”, she said, “and under this part of 
the mountain is more like it, and more than enough 
for your railroad for years to come.” 

Mr. Dolken knelt down and closely examined the 
rock, which certainly appeared to be coal, although 
its surface was tinged and streaked with a peculiar 
mixture of strange hues, unlike any coal he had ever 
seen. He arose to his feet, and turned to ask some 
questions in regard to it, and was surprised to find 
that the queer old woman had disappeared. With 
some misgiving he broke off a good-sized piece of 
the coal, and putting it in his pocket, he hastened 
down the mountain. 

At the first opportunity, although it was the sum- 
mer season, he made a little fire of wood in the stove 
at the station, and when it was going well, put on the 
piece of coal to see how it would burn. As soon as 
it touched the fire, it began to crackle and sputter 
so furiously, he hastily closed the door and in a 
very short time, the stove became so hot that he 
was obliged to go for a pail of water, with which, 
with considerable trouble, he managed to put out the 
fire, but not till the room was completely filled with 
steam. He was more than satisfied with the ex- 
periment, and began to feel much elated, as the coal 
was found on what he had always considered an 
almost worthless piece of his own land. 

Visions of future prosperity began to fill his 
mind as he thought of the wealth that might come 
to him. He made another trip to the top of the 
mountain with his horse and wagon, and found by 
digging that a large quantity of the coal appeared 
to be just beneath the surface, at the place to which 


8 


the old witch had led him. With considerable diffi- 
culty, he returned with a load of coal, which he 
dumped on the ground near the station. Then he 
sent word to the Division Superintendent that he 
had something of much importance to tell him. In 
a few days he received a call from that officer who, 
when he saw the coal, said he would give it a trial, 
and would order Conductor Dunham, of the “noon 
freight”, to make a run to Plympton on the fol- 
lowing day with the coal, and if it proved to be 
good he would give an order for a large quantity. 

The railroad runs up and down the valley, approxi- 
mately parallel with the river, and outside of these, 
the two main valley turnpikes, which are connected 
by two cross-roads, one getting across the river by 
means of a ford and crossing the railroad just at 
the station, the other, a mile below at Barnleighs, 
crossing the stream through an ancient, covered 
bridge, the two crossroads, one of the main roads, 
and the railroad, forming a rough parallelogram, 
that, we shall see, is the theatre of the rampage of 
the “noon freight”. 

The next day, the “noon freight” stopped at the 
station, and Conductor Dunham said, “I have orders 
to take on some coal here.” Mr. Dolken showed the 
coal to the conductor and engineer. They both said 
it was queer looking, and the engineer said he did 
not want to use it. But the Depot Master told him 
he had had his orders. So the mysterious coal was put 
in the tender, the engineer climbed into the cab, and 
the conductor into the caboose, and the train started. 
It was a short train, consisting of, besides the en- 
gine and tender, a flat car loaded with shingles, and 
the caboose, in which were twenty woodchoppers 
from Hentyville. 

When well down the intervale, the engineer said, 
“Put in some of that queer coal, and we will see 
what it will do.” The fireman obeyed, and threw a 


9 


shovelful into the fire. The effect was startling; a 
huge tongue of flame burst into the cab, and if the 
fireman had not shut the door quickly, he and the 
engineer would have suffered. The iron horse, with 
a terrific snort, almost leaped from the rails, and 



And Out on to the Track” 

tore off down the intervale at a tremendous pace. 
The engineer said to himself, “That coal is all right, 
but a little of it goes a good ways”. The fireman 
was thinking the same thing, and was a little sur- 
prised when the engineer ordered him to put in 
another shovelful. He concluded, however, that the 

10 


engineer was determined to give it a good test, and 
proceeded to obey. The engineer aided him by open- 
ing and closing the fire door, which had to be done 
hastily, and another big shovelful of the strange 
coal flew into the fire-box. Whereat the engine, 
already plunging along at topmost speed, gave such 
a forward leap as to send the fireman, shovel in 
hand, backward in a heap on to the pile of coal in 
the tender, and the engineer found himself sprawl- 
ing on the floor of the cab. He got up very quickly, 
as spurts of flame were shooting out all around the 
fire door, managed to climb to his seat, and made 
an effort to reverse his engine and, also, to whistle 
for brakes, thoroughly frightened at the result of 
using the mysterious coal. But try as he would the 
most he could do was to hang on for dear life, as 
the locomotive was now rushing along, at the rate 
of a hundred miles an hour, swaying from one side 
to the other, the drivers thundering along the track, 
scorching jets of steam issuing from the whistle, 
the bell clanging, and a dense black smoke pouring 
from the stack. The fireman was making heroic 
efforts, but like the engineer, the utmost he could 
accomplish was to hold fast to the side of the 
tender, his hair and clothing flying in the wind. The 
shingles on the flat car were bounding up and down 
with breaking bands, and flying out in all directions 
over the intervale. 

Meanwhile, the caboose was the scene of a com- 
motion, the like of which no caboose had held be- 
fore, and kept the track. Such a terrific wrench 
was given to it when the second shovelful of that 
terrible coal was fed to the engine, the coupling 
pin nearly parted at the strain, and the twenty wood- 
choppers were hurled in a confused heap at the 
rear of the car; indeed one of them kept on through 
the door, and out onto the track. Conductor Dun- 
ham was torn from his perch in the monitor, where 
he had been anxiously watching the engineer and 


11 


fireman, his ponderous form falling, with a crash, on 
top of the pile of men from Hentyville, knocking out 
what little wind they had left from their tumble. All 
hands made efforts to hang on, but were pitched 
about like as many huckleberries in a large pail. 
The train had whistled through the covered bridge, 
over Tanner’s brook, and was rushing towards 
Bamleigh’s crossing, on reaching which, instead of 
keeping on down the track through the big cut, to 
the consternation of the train crew and the woods- 
men it leaped from the rails, made a right angle turn, 
and took the dirt road toward the old bridge that at 
this point spans the Wassepemidget. Three of 
Henty’s men flew out of the door of the caboose at 
this juncture, and before reaching the ground, w«ere 
encompassed by a cloud of shingles from the flat 
car. In a cloud of dust, with gravel stones flying 
in all directions, the train made the turn in the 
road, and quickly reached the entrance to the covered 
bridge, into which it whirled at a terrific pace. The 
staunch, old bridge had never before been called 
upon to uphold such a load, and truss and timber 
protested in a chorus of creaks and groans, which 
were mingled with the rattle of rods and bolts as 
the engine ran upon the new iron structure at the 
farther end. 

Mr. Konba was leisurely proceeding over this part 
of the bridge, on his way to Hassburg’s store, when 
he was startled at hearing a terrible racket on the 
other side of the river, and before he had time to col- 
lect his thoughts, it was right upon him, coming 
through the bridge. He had the presence of mind 
to hurl himself over the rail, to the intervale below, 
while the train bounded along over his head, pitched 
down through the little hollow at the end of the 
bridge, and was on its way past his home, his dog 
flying from it with tail between his legs, and before 
his family could get to the windows, was tearing 
madly by the meeting house, and up the hill beyond, 


12 


an awful mass of snorting and gasping iron, and 
creaking wood, enveloped in a cloud of dust, smoke, 
and steam, from which issued the cries of men in 
mortal terror, shrieks of a whistle and clangs of a 
bell. 

Mrs. Walton was engaged in frying doughnuts, at 
peace with the world, when she suddenly paused, 
dropped her fork into the fat, and rushing to the 
door, just caught a fleeting glimpse of an awful 
something disappearing up the road by the barn, 
which left her in a bewildered condition of mind, 
bordering on hysteria. 

Mrs. Liebur was returning from Mill Valley, 
whither she had been to purchase a cow, and was 
just passing Bank’s barn homeward bound, with the 
cow tied to the tailboard, when a strange noise, 
coming from the direction of her home, caused her 
to pull up and listen, then cautiously turn out of 
the roadway, as near the bam as possible and await 
developments. She had not long to wait, and her 
fears grew, momentarily, with the increasing and 
approaching din. She was full of business however, 
with a dancing horse in front and a terrified cow 
behind. But she did not flinch; not even when a huge 
object, of fearful aspect, appeared right ahead, 
coming over the little knoll in front of her. What it 
was she had no time to divine, she only knew that 
a wheel had been torn off her wagon, and herself 
spilled out, that a human being had flown out of 
the passing mass of dust and steam, and a liberated 
cow was following, in the wake of a disappearing 
catastrophe, in the direction of Mill Valley. 

The human being, which by the way, was a wood- 
chopper from Hentyville, was sitting in the dust of 
the road, with a hand pressed against a brow, from 
which reason seemed about to flee. From this state 
of mind, he was aroused by a calm but stentorian 
voice, which asked, “where he was from”, and, 
“what that thing was that had just gone by.” In a 


13 


feeble voice, he replied that it was “Hen” Dun- 
ham’s “noon freight.” 

“ ‘Hen’ Dunham’s noon freight!” repeated Mrs. 
Leibur, with emphasis, “what business has he to 
bring his old freight train around this way? Ain’t 
the railroad good enough to run on? He’ll pay for 
that wheel and find that cow or I’ll report him.” 

A weak smile played over the begrimed features 
of the wood-chopper, and he told her they had 
arrived safely from Hentyville, at Tunthorne Sta- 
tion, where some funny coal was taken on, and that 
since then his mind was mostly a blank. 

But, the reader must no longer tarry with Mrs. 
Liebur and the woodchopper, lest the “noon freight” 
disappears beyond the confines of this tale. Neither 
have we time to fathom the cause of its turning 
northwards — past the little red cot and up the long 
hill — instead of seeking an easier gradient, in the 
direction of Plympton. The fact that one, Lewis 
Banks, was coming from that direction, with an axe 
on his shoulder, might be advanced by some as hav- 
ing its bearings on the case, notwithstanding that 
said Banks dropped the axe and “hit the breeze” in 
the direction of home. The wild “noon freight”, 
meanwhile, is half way up the hill, and another in- 
gredient is added to the enveloping dust and steam 
in the form of Bobbin Mill shavings, with which the 
town had macadamized this portion of the high- 
way. Thus reinforced and with its accompanying 
nerve-racking noises, it broke upon the vision of Mr. 
Hunter as he was dozing in his chair, in the shade 
of the maples, in front of his summer cottage. His 
years did not prevent his making good time towards 
the house, as the “noon freight”, with no apparent 
slackening of speed, notwithstanding the steep 
grade, thundered past. Four more woodchoppers 
had, involuntarily, abandoned the train at the cor- 
ner below, and two pitched out on the steepest part 
of the hill just above the cottage, while a broad 


14 


wake of shingles marked its passage from the iron 
rails. The engineer and fireman had taken refuge 
in the bottom of the rocking tender, while the con- 
ductor, with the remainder of the woodchoppers, 
choked with dust and cinders, still clung to the 
swaying caboose. 

An intense stillness pervaded the summit of Gilton 
Hill, where stood the white house. Teaser, stretched 
out on the little porch, was sound asleep. The hens 
were placidly wallowing in the dust of the hen- 
yard and under the trees, in the hammocks, reposed 
the ladies, Misses Hunter and Loomer. The for- 
mer prevented by desultory naps from perusing 
Verne’s “Around the World in Eighty Days”, the 
latter deep in Richard Baxter’s “Saints’ Rest.” For 
dog, hens, and humans, the awakening was simul- 
taneous, instantaneous and rude. The dog rushed, 
barking, into the road; the hens ran to cover; the 
ladies sprang to the fence, to be transfixed, paralyzed 
with fear, till a faint came to their relief. The 
“noon freight”, running wild, rushed by. Alas, poor 
Teaser, only his astral body remains to vex the heels 
of the occasional traveler past his former domain. 
He was wiped out. 

The noon freight, with its load of pallid passen- 
gers, some of the shingles, and bruised but tenacious 
crew, plunged on down grade now, beneath the 
maples. Mrs. Redbird had just pounded her fore- 
finger in a superhuman effort to attach a stray 
shingle to the rear elevation of her summer home, 
at Kendoncroft, when her quick ear caught the sound 
of the hulabaloo, coming over the hill. She jumped 
from the ladder, dashed to the front of the house, 
and down to the road, where Donald and Kenneth, 
and Ralph and Proctor were playing in the sand, 
and forcibly removed them to a place of safety be- 
hind the wall, and not a second too soon. Another 
instant, and poor Teaser’s fate would have been 
their’s. As it was, after what they saw, scarce 


15 


strength remained to reach the house. Mrs. Red- 
bird gasped out, “What was it?” “It looked like the 
‘noon freight’, said Donald.” Mr. Redbird, too, who 
was endeavoring to extricate a few hills of corn from 
an annual and persistent growth of “Injy” wheat, as 
the bewitched train thundered towards his home, 
dropped his hoe and plunged under the cottage. 
When he emerged, his hair, hitherto black as a 
raven’s wing, was white. 

Manwell Upling’s countenance was agitated, partly 
with emotion, partly with pie, of which his mouth 
held a goodly portion. He could only point and this 
he did, strenuously, in the direction of Miss Hun- 
ter’s. “What’s that racket, Manwell?” asked his 
wife. His answer was to stride rapidly out of 
doors. David was already there, looking for what 
we can guess. In a moment, gravel from the road 
was in the barnyard, some found its way into the 
parlor, the corn barn was riddled; a small hot speci- 
men hit David in the mouth. He was uncommuni- 
cative, as was his wont, this time perforce. 

The Joyce family below heard, saw, and fled to 
the sheep pasture. A sand storm we read of in 
old geographies would not have put more sand on 
and in their house. Five of Henty’s men showed 
good judgment when they quit the caboose at this 
point where the sand is deep. Their story was, that 
trouble had been their portion since leaving Dol- 
ken’s. 

The Merritts saw a portion of a new veranda 
trailing after something, from which they fled to 
the cellar. As the “noon freight” rounded Cox’s cor- 
ner, toward the river, seven woodchoppers emerged, 
and continued on up toward Hentyville. In the cut 
that leads to the bottom lands, new fences are need- 
ed; part of them boarded the flat car, whereupon 
most of the remaining shingles left. The river was 
soon reached at the ford; the middle of the river 
with a mighty swash; the passage was rough. As 


16 


in an ancient instance, the waters stood in heaps on 
either hand, while large stones came to the sur- 
face, and floated off up stream. The last of the 
shingles, and the last of the woodchoppers, floated 
off down stream. 

The train crew was still tenacious. Mr. Dolken 
was still on the bench, with a day dream, the sub- 
stance of which was coal. He had been there since 
the “noon freight” left; his air castle tumbled. 
Something came up from the ford, tore down the 
fence, and took to the rails, as naturally as a duck 
to water. It was the “noon freight”, but much 
changed. The crew, also, was there but unrecogniz- 
able. It was they, nevertheless, and they made their 
presence felt. Coal began to come Mr. Dolken’s 
way — strenuous coal — ‘Beldame’ Gruebodie’s coal. 
No word was spoken by the train crew — they were 
too full for utterance. Full of smoke, literal sand, 
and divers emotions. Mr. Dolken fled. When he 
reached home, the bottom of his wagon was full of 
the Beldame’s coal. It had rolled off his back, which 
was sore, and had assumed the hue of the bewitched 
coal. There was none of this kind of coal in the 
tender now, and Conductor Dunham ordered the en- 
gineer to pull out for Plympton. This he did, and 
Barnleigh’s crossing was safely passed. 


17 


THE BELDAME BEDEVILS A BEAN SUPPER 


Naturally, the sinister happenings accredited to 
Beldame Gruebody were the universal theme up and 
down the valley of the Wassepemidget, and one mid- 
summer evening a number of men, fresh from their 
evening meal after a hard day’s work, were ranged 
along the edge of the veranda that formed the front 
of Enos Enders’ store, and with legs crossed and 
pipes aglow, were voluble in denunciation of the 
“Gore” witch, oblivious to the fact that hidden in 
the darkness of the adjacent horseshed, with head 
craned forward, and leaning on her staff, was the 
redoubtable Beldame herself, eagerly listening to 
their conversation. 

Enos, though a kindly old man, was thoroughly 
wrought up at the condition of affairs due to the 
presence in the community of the old witch, and 
after keeping silence till the others had exhausted 
their vocabulary, as well as their breath, arose from 
his chair and shuffling up and down the platform, 
gave vent in no uncertain tones to his opinion in 
the matter. 

He waxed wroth when told that strong men stood 
in fear of the Beldame, and said that if his limbs 
were as agile and his eyes as good as when he was 
young and followed the sea, he would “smoke her 
out” single-handed. He wound up by offering a 
hundred dollars (he being reputed the wealthiest man 
in the place) to the person who would rid the com- 
munity of her baleful presence and in his indigna- 
tion went so far as to say that he -thought her the 
most worthy candidate for the first use of the brand 
new hearse which the parish had recently gone in 
debt to acquire. 

The old Beldame drew back into the darkest corner 
of the shed and gnashed her single tooth in rage as 

IS 


the group of men slowly melted away into the night, 
and Enos locked up and retired into his house. Wait- 
ing till every light in the hamlet was out, the old 
witch easily opened the door by means of the won- 
derful staff, which no lock could withstand, and 
entered the store. She moved about noiselessly and 
swiftly, among the boxes and barrels and counters, 
and began immediately to wreak her spite on the 
aged storekeeper. 

Taking from the case the box of candy, the con- 
tents of which the kindhearted though gruff old man 
was wont to present to the little ones who visited 
his store, she deftly proceeded to pack in the heart 
of each gumdrop a small but potent quantity of red 
pepper. It was the reputation of the store that it 
not only contained everything “usually kept in a 
country store” but anything that might be called 
for by anybody. In a small wooden box was a quan- 
tity of shoemakers’ wax which the old witch, with 
a diabolical grin on her leathern face, proceeded to 
reduce to powder, and then to mix into a quantity of 
“Fine cut” chewing tobacco that was highly prized 
by some of Enos’ best customers. 

Then she went into the back room, wherein were 
the hogshead of molasses and the barrels of kero- 
sene, and drawing a number of gallons of the oil, 
gleefully poured them through the bung hole of the 
molasses hogshead and thoroughly mixed the oil and 
the molasses with her staff. She then departed for 
the “Gore” well satisfied with the night’s work. 

Considerable history was to be made in the ham- 
let during the ensuing days. A combined lawn party 
and bean supper was to ‘‘come off” on Enos Enders’ 
lawn to aid in the liquidation of the debt incurred 
by the purchase of the afore-mentioned new funeral 
car. 

On the morning of the day set, which was imme- 
diately after the old witch’s visit, Enos arose be- 
times, and after “chores” were over, he “opened up” 


19 


and bustled about as lively as his years would admit. 
Soon a tot of a girl, with bright eyes, appeared, and 
as she was a favorite, received at once a gumdrop 
which found its way to her mouth as she ran out of 
the store to her home nearby. Soon after, almost 
without warning, Enos was confronted by an irate 
mother bearing a screaming child in her arms, who 
proceeded to furnish him with a very uncomfortable 
half-hour that dulled the edge of the pleasurable 
mood with which he had begun the day. 

The storm had passed, however, when tall Joe 
Irons came in and made requisition on the stock of 
“fine cut”. He was in something of a hurry and as 
he passed out met Mr. Gid Upton to whom he prof- 
fered a portion of the fresh “fine cut” which was 
accepted and immediately assimilated by Mr. Upton 
and each went his way, one up and the other down 
the road. 

Although Mr. Irons was very tall and Mr. Upton 
rather short, each moved at about the same pace 
and after going an equal number of rods simul- 
taneously halted with a queerly anxious expression 
on their faces, put one hand to their jaws, then 
both staggered about the road, then started in a 
bee line towards Enos’s with anger and dismay very 
much in evidence on each countenance. Mr. Irons 
sought Mr. Enders, while Mr. Upton sought Mr. 
Irons. They were scheduled to meet at the store 
entrance and were on time. No word was spoken 
perforce. Actions, according to the old saying, 
“speak louder than words.” In this instance the 
actions were vociferous. The short Upton burrowed 
into the tall Irons and the tall Irons wrapped him- 
self about the short Upton. A human boulder 
ricochetted about enveloped in a cloud of dust. Inci- 
dentally, a veranda post gave away; both handles of 
the wheelbarrow were broken off, the horse rail was 
torn up by the roots and a panel of Enos’ front fence 
laid prostrate. 


20 


Meanwhile, the neighbors gathered in force. Enos 
appeared with a pail of water and his good wife 
followed with a horsewhip. Both were used, but in- 
effectually. From sheer lack of wind, the supply 
having been cut off by dust and the ‘‘fine cut” com- 
bine, the boulder unwound and separated. The 
neighbors then took a hand and investigated. They 
diagnosed the case as the lockjaw, complicated by 
sunstroke, and the “blind staggers” and hustled the 
patients off to catch the train for Plympton where 
jaws were finally parted with a cold chisel and peace 
reigned. 

The excitement consequent upon this episode was 
such that the bean supper was entirely forgotten 
till people began to gather; when preparations for 
the event were at once put in motion. Under the 
supervision of the champion bean baker of the 
township a large hole had previously been dug in 
the center of the lawn, and filled with glowing red 
hot coals, into the midst of which a large iron pot 
had been set. The beans had been duly parboiled, 
an onion placed in the bottom of the pot, the beans 
put in and a goodly portion of Enos’ molasses, 
which justly bore an excellent reputation in the 
valley, was poured over and among them and a gen- 
erous hunk of pork placed in the midst. A thin 
sheet of birch bark was then put across the top, and 
the cover crowded on in such a way as to make it 
air-tight, the whole covered deeply with live coals 
and left over night. 

The lawn party preceded the supper, and was en- 
acted with the ladies on the inside of the fence, on 
the lawn, exchanging bits of gossip, and the “gents” 
on the outside, in the road, talking horse. But the 
aroma that arose from the bean hole, as the coals 
were removed from the top and the cover lifted, 
“broke the ice” and the bean supper was soon in 
full blast. It was evident, ere long, that something 


21 


was amiss. The odor of the beans, while not un- 
pleasant, was peculiar, and Station Master Dolken 
said he detected hues in his plate that reminded him 
of the bewitched coal. A faint cerulean tinge was 
scumbled over each plate of beans which were, never- 
theless, palatable and freely partaken of. 

Somehow, the affair dragged, and Enos, to relieve 
the situation, produced from the store a box of 
cigars which he passed among the men, unconscious 
of the fact that the Beldame had carefully loaded 
each one with gunpowder. The “Fine cut” was also 
dealt out to those who preferred the “weed” in that 
shape. The countenances of most of the male por- 
tion of the assemblage were soon in a deplorable 
condition; either drawn and distorted by frantic 
efforts to master the mysterious “Fine cut”, or 
singed and seared by the fusilade of explosions that 
soon startled the participants. 

To cap the climax, Mr. Dave Upling was bent over 
the bean hole, excavating a fourth “help”, when his 
cigar “went off” and the burning end dropped direct- 
ly into the midst of the beans. 

Instantly, with a flash and a roar, the bean hole 
was transformed into a miniature volcano. Sand, 
gravel, and beans filled the air only to fall on the 
assembly in a shower, the pork brought against Mr. 
Upling’s face placing him “hors de combat.” A 
stampede immediately ensued as the bean hole 
burned fiercely, and the supper came to a melan- 
choly and inglorious end. The terrified partici- 
pants dispersed in a rout up and down the valley 
road, freely attributing the disaster to the malign 
interference of the old witch, the females voluble 
in denunciation of the inefficiency of the “men 
folks” in dealing with the scourge of the valley, and 
the males, with faces either “set” by the “Fine cut” 
or blistered by the powder, unable, adequately, to 
reply or express their emotions in intelligible ex- 
pletives. 


22 


As they disappeared in the gloaming, their sus- 
picions of witchcraft were confirmed as a burst of 
high-keyed, crackling laughter came from the 
thicket on the high bank in the rear of the house. 
Thereupon, Enos, who was ruefully inspecting his 
ruined lawn with a blackened hole in the center, re- 
tired somewhat precipitately into his bean bespat- 
tered domicile and double barred the doors. 

However, the next day, in spite of the brooding 
terror of witchcraft, there was a run on his stock 
of carminative “bitters”, induced by an aftermath of 
intestinal disorders, up and down the valley; this 
seemed, in a measure, a reimbursement for the dam- 
age done to home and lawn. But later, confusion 
was worse confounded when it developed that the 
“bitters” had also come under the spell of the old 
witch, who had substituted for them a concoction of 
her own mixture, composed of calomel, Epsom salts, 
Croton oil, ipecac, paregoric, jalap and other seda- 
tives usually kept to tickle the palate of the rural 
invalid. 


23 


THE BELDAME AUGMENTS MR. UPLING’S 
DIVINING ROD 


The disastrous outcome of the bean supper sup- 
plied the valley with a subject that kept the tongues 
wagging for many a day. All sorts of opinion were 
afloat, and some, in their search for a minor scape- 
goat (for one and all held the Beldame to be the 
prime cause) settled upon Mr. David Upling and 
said that if he had been satisfied with a normal 
quantity of beans, the supper would not have ended 
as it did. 

His friends attempted to excuse him on the ground 
that beans require poor land, and the excessive fer- 
tility of the Upling farm prevented his having any 
of the succulent vegetable at home, and consequently, 
his abnormal appetite and capacity for beans got 
the better of his judgment and manners. Still, 
some of his enemies went further, and said he was 
capable of being hand and glove with the old Bel- 
dame, and referred to the fact that Upling was 
something of a wizard himself. As a matter of fact, 
he took a deal of pride in that it was known, 
all up and down the valley, that he was an adept 
with the divining rod, either in search for water, or 
metal. He even said that had Depot Master Dolken 
consulted him in regard to the spurious coal, the 
episode of the bewitched train never would have 
occurred, and he affected a deal of contempt for the 
“scare” that prevailed. 

He was present on the platform of Enders’ store 
when the old witch was discussed and, being a man 
of few words, he had simply remarked that the 
Beldame was just “a common old thief” with no 
supernatural powers whatever. Enos rallied him 
a little on his well-known ability with the witch 


24 


hazel rod, and said, “he guessed Dave was a little 
envious”. 

The listening Beldame heard his remark with any- 
thing but pleasure, and notched her staff with the 
only tooth left in her head, that she might not for- 
get to wreak her direst vengeance on her traducer. 

The ancient and occult art of divination with the 
forked witch-hazel branch, had been handed down, 
from sire to son, in the Upling family for several 
generations. The particular twig, still in use, had 
been cut by an ancestor, directly beneath the Great 
Stone Face, on the shore of the lake that laves the 
base of the crag. The location of many a well in 
the valley had been determined by it, and it was 
guarded with jealous care by its possessor, who 
allowed no one but himself to handle it, as it is well- 
known that the touch of all but those with the 
peculiar gift, results in a diminution of power. For 
this reason, the precious rod had always been left 
suspended, high up in the peak of the old barn, 
where it was supposed to be safe from molesta- 
tion. 

But the Beldame was equal to all emergencies of 
this kind, and on a dismal night, easily entered the 
barn and as easily mounted to the “high beam” and 
reached the twig with the tip of her terrible staff. 
She simply touched both handles of the “Y” and 
departed. 

Now, Mr. Redbird, who in the summer season 
occupied, with his family, the neat cottage opposite 
the Upling farm house, was much in need of a sup- 
ply of water, having had to depend on the neighborly 
kindness of Mr. Upling, who allowed him to draw 
from his barrel, supplied from a fine spring on the 
hillside. Mr. Redbird owned a small tract that ex- 
tended to what in mountain parlance is known as the 
“height of land”, in other words, the “divide” where- 
on lay a moist “swale”, which he hoped, would yield 
the required amount of water with a good “head”. 

25 


Mr. Upling volunteered to assist in finding the 
proper location for a well, and explained that that 
was where two underground streamlets joined, and 
that with the aid of the witch-hazel twig hanging 
in the barn the task was simplicity itself. 



On the far side of the “height of land” was a 
little streamlet that, after meandering through a 
small, upland meadow, became a rushing brook that 
clattered through the boulders and down the moun- 
tainside in the rear of the farmstead, till after 
diving under the highway, it sought the tangled 
fields and, anon, the forest that bordered the Was- 
sepemidget and, with a final plunge through huge 


26 


boulders, gained repose in a portion of the river 
locally known as the “Eddy”, where the slack waters 
lazily swirled against the steep bank, overhung 
with the thick woods, and then set against the 
quicksands and mud banks of the opposite shore. 
The dark waters were covered with a noisome scum 
and a tangle of dead branches projected their smaller 
twigs above the surface, as if to beckon the unwary 
eel fisher to their embrace, for the place was seldom 
visited except by those in quest of the slippery deni- 
ens of the muck. 

The finding of water by means of the divining 
rod, was a novelty to the summer colony, and at the 
appointed time they were on hand., reinforced by the 
native population that dwelt in the vicinity. Mr. 
Upling duly appeared with the ancient rod, and on 
arriving at the “swale” immediately grasped the 
branches of the Y-shaped rod, in such a way as to 
point the stem directly before him, the palms of his 
hands uppermost, with the thumbs outside. Walk- 
ing slowly, he essayed to cross the little hollow; he 
reached the middle when, to the astonishment of the 
city-bred portion of his audience, the rod, with a 
quick turn upward and inward, toward his body, 
descended, with a wrench, between his arms and 
pointed, obliquely outward, toward the ground. Fur- 
thermore , as if drawn by an irresistible force, Mr. 
Upling began moving, at first slowly and then 
faster and faster, till, to the amazement of the 
assembled onlookers, he was on a dead run in the 
direction of the little brook. Once he turned his 
head and called out, “Somebody ketch hold of me!” 
But the words were scarcely out of his mouth when 
he was tearing across the little meadow as if 
equipped with the famous “seven league boots”. 

Mr. Sim Joyce and Mr. Redbird had started in 
pursuit, but Mr. Redbird, being somewhat corpulent, 
was soon compelled to give up the chase and Mr. 
Joyce more active, was immediately distanced, 


27 


although he pluckily followed, as fast as possible, 
with the entire assembly in his wake. Meantime, 
Mr. Upling was heard crashing through the alders, 
and tumbling over the boulders, till the sounds died 
away down the brook. The effect of his passage 
was such that even the trout were scared out of the 
brook, and lay gasping and flopping on the bank. 
No attention was paid to them, however, by the 
crowd that streamed along as fast as it could, Mr. 
Redbird bringing up the rear, short-winded and 
perspiring. 

On through the tangled thicket and into the woods 
below they went, led by Mr. Joyce, the trail being 
easily followed, till the murky waters of the “Eddy” 
were reached. There, floating about, in the swirl 
of the scum, in the very middle of the “Eddy” was 
the ancient rod. But no evidence, more than this, of 
the unfortunate water finder. He had, indeed, found 
water, but not in the manner expected and much less 
to his taste. The Beldame’s vengeance was terrible 
and complete, for the quicksands of the “Eddy” 
were never known to give up a victim, and an awe- 
stricken and sorrowful throng returned from the 
river. A hoarse, grating, chuckle that floated out 
from the copse on the far side of the “Eddy,” turned 
their retreat into a panic, with “every one for him- 
self, and the Beldame take the hindmost.” 


28 


THE BELDAME DISTURBS MR. REDBIRD’S 
SIESTA 


The terrible punishment visited upon Mr. Upling 
by the vindictive Beldame filled the inhabitants of 
the valley with consternation. That her diabolical 
witchcraft should go to the extreme of depriving 
the community of an active and worthy citizen en- 
gendered a haunting fear of her malign powers. 
No one was more affected by the loss of Mr. Upling 
and the terrible manner of his going than Mr. Red- 
bird, a pioneer summer resident who had purchased 
land of him for the site of his cottage even prior 
to the advent of the Beldame as well as before the 
general influx of the warm weather population. His 
vacations for years had been spent in friendly prox- 
imity to this latest victim of the Beldame’s malevo- 
lence and the indignation he felt regarding the 
presence and conduct of the old witch was greatly 
enhanced. * 

Mr. Redbird was temperamentally somewhat 
given to dreams propagated by a fluent imagina- 
tion. To him the Beldame’s habitat in the vicinity, 
the settlement in the valley of a certain portion of 
the wealthy summer aliens from the Buh and the 
prevalent insane destruction of the forests that 
clothed the mountain sides was not only coincidental 
but inter-related. Across Mr. Redbird’s place a little 
rill meandered until it cascaded through 
a small bushy gorge in the direction of the Wasse- 
pemidget. At this point between the giant trunks 
of two huge maples that shadowed the spot swung 
a barrel hammock that provided equipment for Mr. 
Redbird’s daily after-dinner siesta. Here reclining 


29 


where the umbrageous maples defied the hectic noon 
he was wont to indulge his propensity for day 
dreams. Here he was given to musings upon a 
matter of supreme interest, namely, the exploita- 
tion of the beautiful mountain region by selfish and 
ruthless lumber interests and the previously un- 
wise transference by a sovereign state of its heri- 
tage of a natural wonderland occupying a great 
area in its midst and potentially an asset of tre- 
mendous economic possibilities, to rapacious and de- 
structive individualism. The numerous wonderful 
features bestowed by nature with a lavish hand that 
might with early foresight have been retained and 
controlled as sources of perpetual revenue had been 
relinquished “for a song.” An occular demonstra- 
tion had been staged during the time of Mr. Red- 
bird’s residence. The Wassepemidget valley had 
been the scene of insidious invasion and ultimate 
absorption on a tremendous scale by a monopolistic 
organization, the notorious Noshamehere Landgrab 
Co. controlled by one individual Mr. N. O. Shames. 

The modus operand! employed to depopulate and 
deforest was characterized by the helpless observers 
as serpentine and the predatory organization was 
likened to a boa constrictor. Public lands acquired 
for next to nothing, tax titles taken over until there 
were no large tracts not owned by the invader, the 
next step was a squeezing process applied to the 
native stock gaining a livelihood farming in the 
summer and lumbering their small tracts of timber 
land on the lower slopes of the mountains in the 
winter. In fact they were more woodsmen than 
farmers and depended on conditions that would in- 
sure continuous employment in the cold season. But 
exhausting their limited tracts of woodland and un- 
able to get more at any price they ultimately found 
themselves without logs for their small saw mills. 
The sons unable to get winter employment emi- 
grated cityward, leaving the old folks to succumb 


30 


to the “company” by selling their homesteads for a 
mere pittance. 

These vast holdings wherefrom the native popu- 
lation had been thus excluded were withheld from 
all purchase or lease and given over to a prospective 
wilderness. Even standing grass of excellent qual- 
ity was refused to would-be purchasers. In this 
way the timberland in the valley had become 
acquired by alien ownership inimical to the best in- 
terests of the region. 

Tunthorne “Gore” was a case in point, a great 
natural amphitheatre surrounded by mountains with 
only one regular passage to the outside world afford- 
ed by the notch through which flowed a tributary 
of the Wassepemidget. This happy valley anciently 
possessed many thrifty farms, two school houses, a 
church, and lumber and grist mills, affording suste- 
nance to a sturdy populace. The general fate over- 
taking the Gore, the farms went back to the wilder- 
ness, the ancient homes with church, school, and 
mill abandoned to desolation and the doleful ruin of 
one of the best farmsteads becoming the habitat 
of the malevolent old witch Beldame Gruebodie. 

Finally it came about that this accumulation of 
illgotten territory passed into the hands of a many 
millioned trust, the gigantic Reduction to Pulp Com- 
pany. This baleful octopus fastened itself onto 
the timbered vitals of the great hills, its tentacles 
extending from the big saw mills established in the 
valley to the loftiest spruce-covered peaks, and the 
swift process of denudation was in full swing. Rail- 
roads, lumber roads, and “go back” roads trailed 
summitward and the prime forest of spruce that 
clothed the mountain peaks considered inaccessible 
by the native woodsmen began descent to the mills 
ultimately to be yarded in the form of lumber or 
pulp wood on the intervales near the “W. V.” that 
afforded transportation to the world outside. 

The population of the valley was much increased 


31 


for a time by an influx of “timber jacks” who con- 
tributed a somewhat questionable quality to the 
social atmosphere of the community. The method 
of the native lumbermen had been to fell some of 
the largest trees, haul them out endwise, leaving the 
saplings intact. The professional lumbermen cut 
everything of any size, rolled it down the moun- 
tain, destroying the young growth and leaving 
slashings that in time became a mat of tinder that 
easily caught fire from camps or otherwise, burn- 
ing over great tracts even to the peaks, thus prepar- 
ing the earth for removal down to bed rock in times 
of heavy rainfall. This denudation of the higher 
mountains operated to release the water hitherto 
retained by the mass of vegetation, in the form of 
great freshets followed by long periods of low 
water in the streams depended upon for power by 
the manufactories lining their banks. 

To this condition of things, sufficiently harrow- 
ing to Mr. Redbird’s temperamental soul, was added 
as the “last straw” the malignant behavior of the 
old witch who in his view personalized the unscrupu- 
lous and rapacious spirit of the invading lumber- 
men. So when his friend Upling became a victim 
of this unhallowed spirit the time for some antagon- 
istic action seemed to be at hand. As an official of 
the “Society to prevent the sale and bodily removal 
of the mountains,” he called a meeting of indigna- 
tion and protest to be held in the local Grange Hall. 

The call was answered by an enthusiastic audi- 
ence that filled the hall. There were many denun- 
ciatory speeches that were well received and Mr. 
Redbird closed the meeting bristling with invec- 
tive and anathema in his treatment of the Beldame 
when he pictured that unpopular lady as in reality 
the intensive embodiment of the ruthless spirit of 
the alien lumbermen. 

The Beldame was an interested auditor, ensconsed 
secretly and safely in the dense foliage of a big 


32 


spruce close to the building. From this perch she 
could both see and hear through the open windows. 
Another notch was vindictively made in the terrible 
staff. 

As a panacea to soothe somewhat his feelings 
regarding disturbing conditions, Mr. Redbird was 
wont, as he indulged in his noontime siesta, to build 
an air castle based upon what might be the state of 
things if forethought had from the first impelled a 
wiser course regarding the destiny of the mountain 
tract. Thus musing one day soon after the meet- 
ing he fell into a gentle doze that produced a charm- 
ing vision. The mountain region was depicted as an 
entrancing dreamland affording profit to the State 
and the mountain population, and pleasure to the 
thousands of tourists and occupiers of innumerable 
summer homes. Wisdom and forethought had been 
the rule from the earliest times in the management 
of this wonderful tract occupying the heart of the 
State, which had retained ownership and control of 
the immense forests, the water powers, natural feat- 
ures of interest, and sites available for summer hos- 
telries. The forests under an intelligent supervision 
by able foresters had been lumbered in a manner to 
conserve and perpetuate their wealth of valuable 
material and also to prevent wastage of the rain- 
fall and melting snows that fed the streams that in 
the lowlands turned the manufacturers’ machinery. 
Good roads afforded passage through the whole ter- 
ritory and all points of interest were made acces- 
sible. Trails with convenient camps at intervals 
led the hardy mountain climber and explorer through 
the wilderness and along ridges to the lofty sum- 
mits. An efficient oversight was maintained by 
special wardens to prevent destruction by fire. The 
hostelries that sheltered the summer visitors paid a 
fair rental for the sites. Thus the region not only 
returned to the State an ample revenue above cost 


33 


of maintenance but provided a great natural recrea- 
tion territory for immense numbers of vacationists 
from far and near with an annual expenditure with- 
in the state of millions of dollars. In this wise this 
tremendous natural park had become the pride and 
glory of the State and was beloved and admired not 
only by the citizens of the possessing commonwealth, 
but by an innumerable host of appreciative aliens 
who had enjoyed the great privilege of a sojourn 
in this region with its cloud-capped summits, peace- 
ful vales and tonic atmosphere. 

But suddenly a change of a distressing nature 
clouded this soothing vision until it became a night- 
mare of cumulative horror. The wily Beldame 
had stealthily emerged from the thicket and touched 
with the dreaded staff the supporting rope at each 
end of the hammock thus short-circuiting the un- 
fortunate Redbird with her diabolical bewitchment. 

Her victim, tossing and rolling — but unawakened, 
dreamed on. But a phantasmal evil had taken the 
place of the former vision of beauty and peace. De- 
nudation, destruction and conflagration went on 
apace. Soft wood, then hard wood, large growth 
and small growth, disappeared to supply an insist- 
ent demand for wood products of every description 
from lumber to toothpicks. Before Redbird’s dis- 
ordered consciousness streamed incoherently — saw 
logs, dimension lumber, bobbins, ax handles, char- 
coal, all in an enveloping wraithlike smudge. 

All this intermixed with a vast amorphous accu- 
mulation of pulp in which among floating myriads 
of gnomelike figures he recognized those famous 
ultimate products, The Yellow Kid of days agone, 
Foxy Grandpa, Buster Brown, The Katzenjammer 
Kids, he of genial countenance and ample circulation 
the renowned Buh Globesity Man with his proteges 
Kitty and Danny, and those able exponents of re- 
fined technique and subtle wit, Mutt and Jeff, all 
so much more valuable than mere building material. 


34 


Anon troops of wailing, disheveled summer board- 
ers fleeing the universal chaos swirled swiftly by. 
Vegetation eliminated, even the solid granite itself 
impelled by some mysterious economic urge signifi- 
cantly political in the interests of big business be- 
gan to disrupt, dissolve and disappear until the 
place of the great hills was taken by an enormous 
excavation. To the south where once had been the 
great lake Saukepewinne a vast mountain of refuse 
towered into the clouds, while the waters of the 
lake and the Wassepemidget flowing north poured a 
muddy torrent into the great pit forming a huge 
inland sea. 

Only Redbird and his barrel hammock of all the 
valley were left intact amid the swirling, seething, 
steaming tide and this not for long. Swaying tumult- 
ously, a final plunge was made into the murky 
depths. 

Redbird’s family fished him out of the gurgling 
rill into which he had fallen from the rocking ham- 
mock. But not the old Redbird; vacant staring eyes, 
trembling limbs and babbling speech evidenced rea- 
son dethroned — very appropriately he was removed 
to a “retreat” in the State of Megnuttycut. 


35 


THE BELDAME AGITATES THE PARISH 
BELL ROPE 


As has been said, there appeared in the valley 
simultaneously with the great lumber operators and 
the Beldame, and subtly related to these agents of 
error the influx of a distinctive group of well-to-do 
and influential summer citizens chiefly from that 
centre of dangerous radical tendencies, metaphysi- 
cal, sociological and theological, the great city of 
Buh. 

This inroad went on apace until their property 
accumulations and consequent influence became an 
important, not to say a governing, factor in the 
affairs of the community. The introduction of the 
effervescent new wine of Buhistic tendencies into 
this old fashioned region might with certainty pre- 
sage discordance, and in fact a subtle change was 
soon observed in the character of the locality, that 
eventually found lodgement even inside the walls 
of the mountain Zion. 

Here, under the ministry of the Rev. Jeremiah 
Mogdarr, an ancient theology was boldly and sternly 
promulgated. The problem of evil for him was 
solved. His firm belief that mankind, through the 
machinations of the Arch Fiend, was destined to 
eternal woe unless succored by means duly pro- 
vided by the “plan of salvation,” spurred him on in a 
constant succession of warning exhortations deliv- 
ered with the terrible earnestness of a sincere and 
courageous soul. The ministrations of one so in- 
trepid and imbued with convictions of import so 
grave produced in the community an atmosphere of 
solemnity as well as conduct, having a direct rela- 
tion to a stern conception of an imperiled future. 

36 


So that in this staid old fashioned community secu- 
lar affairs were soberly performed and Sabbaths were 
given over to solemn observances in the old meet- 
ing house where these convictions were transmitted 
by means of services of the simplest kind. Mr. Mog- 
darr’s favorite hymn, droned in a minor key to the 
ancient tune of “Windham,” expressed so clearly his 
theological conception of the human status that he 
modified his strict notions as to the sinfulness of 
mural decoration and had the opening stanza painted 
distinctly, on the wall behind the pulpit — 

“Broad is the road that leads to death 
And thousands walk together there, 

But wisdom shows a better path 
With here and there a traveler.” 

A distinct cleavage existed that separated the 
“fold” from the “World’s people” and the spiritual 
credentials of would-be participants in the joys of 
communion with the saints were subjected to a strict 
examination intended to discover dependence on the 
possession of human excellences or the essential 
surrender of these in a reliance upon the external 
unseen with the resulting spiritual regeneration of 
the individual. 

That such a state of affairs ecclesiastical should 
not be congenial to the advanced new comers may 
be safely assumed, and in sheer commiseration a 
movement was inaugurated having for its object 
a release from antiquated belief and polity and the 
substitution therefor of a religion up to date, having 
a basis logical and scientific in the place of a mere 
childish faith in the supernatural and promulgated 
by novel methods serving to lure the unchurched to 
a modernized form of Godliness. 

Ultimately the “fold” was induced to dispense 
with the services of Mr. Mogdarr and allow the sub- 
stitution of the Reverend Percy St. James Soothe- 
nas, a young alumnus of a Calvinarius School of 


37 


modern theology and endowed with social graces of 
a high order. This gentleman’s procedure was ener- 
getic, rapid and revolutionary. Ritualism evicted 
simplicity in worship. A short “hot point” address 
mainly for the delectation of the advanced portion 
of the audience, was given at the morning service on 
such subjects as “The Relation of ‘World Power’ to 
the Divine Economy,” “The Inherent Righteousness 
of a Triumphant Humanity,” or “The Probability of 
the Existence and Necessity of Ethics on the Planet 
Mars,” preceded by a lengthy musical program. 
The evening service was devoted to a public forum 
to discuss questions of local interest and utility 
such as “Are Bobbin-mill Shavings Superior to Saw- 
dust for Repairing State Roads,” or “Which has the 
Greater Deleterious Effect on a Rural Community, 
Hard Cider or the Craving for Flivers?” 

An athletic field was installed on the intervale 
opposite the church for the physical culture of the 
younger element Sabbath afternoons, and the mid- 
week prayer meeting was usurped by moving pic- 
tures, censored by the Ladies’ Aid. 

A radical change was made even in the new hearse. 
Its funeral black was singed off and a pale lavender 
substituted with a reassuring quotation in gilt let- 
ters decorating the panel of the door. In fact the 
keynote of the ministrations of Mr. Soothenas finds 
adequate elucidation in the text “Speak Ye Com- 
fortably to Jerusalem.” 

At first he ignored the issue of witchcraft that 
obsessed the community until the continued excite- 
ment forced him to take some notice of the “delu- 
sion,” naively innocent of the aforementioned 
relativity and the doom of a divided house. It was 
duly announced that the subject would be taken up 
at a certain midweek service in place of the pictures. 
The novelty had worn off these somewhat and the 
new excitement served to fill the church once more 

Sk77-Uf 




and as the evening was cool the inner doors were 
closed. This circumstance enabled the Beldame to 
steal into the entry, climb the belfry ladder to the 
ceiling and listen through a ventilator. Mr. Soothe- 
nas declared positively that no such personality as 
the witch existed — that there was no competent evi- 
dence to prove her actual presence in the community. 
Mr. Dolken, fatigued by his climb and partly over- 
come by the heat, dozed and dreamed, discovered the 
strange ore on awakening which ore probably con- 
tained radium in large quantities. She was not seen 
in the other cases at all and Mr. Upling owned a 
cider mill. Mr. Redbird had without any doubt what- 
soever always been on the verge of lunacy. It was 
as much a delusion as its ancient prototype in Salem. 

The enraged witch waited no longer. She de- 
scended the ladder quickly and as she went out at 
the door halted and touched the dangling bell rope 
with the tip of the mysterious staff and disappeared. 
Peal after peal broke on the astounded and startled 
audience and as the din increased a rush was made 
for the doors as well as the windows until the build- 
ing was emptied and the people had fled into the 
darkness that shrouded the intervale where they 
crouched in fear to await further developments, being 
sure it was the work of the Beldame. 

The trembling figure of the thoroughly affrighted 
preacher seemed frozen to the pulpit, as, to the 
amazement of all, the bewitched rope took a major 
part in the exercises. Dividing itself into three 
strands of increased size with an occult power of 
extension it proceeded energetically with the busi- 
ness in hand. While one strand with a serpentine 
movement squirmed up and down the road keeping 
the awe stricken spectators at bay. another tore open 
the doors of the small building at the side of the 
church and drew out the lavender funeral car. The 
third extended itself sinuously and swiftly down the 
aisle and into the pulpit where it wrapped itself 


39 


about the helpless occupant and incontinently 
dragged him out of the building and deposited his 
limp form in the opened vehicle which with the bell 
now lugubriously tolling disappeared down the road 
in the direction of the Buh while scintillating lumi- 
nously on the door the quotation, “There is no death; 
what seems so is transition.” Shrieks of demoniacal 
hilarity came from the high crag behind the church 
that drowned the tolling of the bell and froze the 
blood of the cowering parishioners. 


AFTWORD 

Due to the exodus of the big lumber interests after 
having stripped the mountains and advantageously 
disposed of their denuded holdings to the conserva- 
tionists, followed closely by the allied Beldame and 
also the abandonment of the locality by that section 
of the summer residents given to ecclesiastical ex- 
perimentation the valley has resumed to some extent 
its former social status. Even the denuded and 
scarified mountains do not prevent the visitation of 
hosts of summer tourists or their occupation of hotel 
and bungalow during the heated term. “The Society 
to prevent the sale and bodily removal of the moun- 
tains,” has been reorganized, and rechristened the 
“Gratitude Club,” having for its object a concrete 
appreciation of the considerate reserve that has fore- 
stalled tne seizure of the vast accumulation of gran- 
ite composing the great hills, by right of eminent 
domain, and its attempted commercial distribution 
as a substitute for wasted and unattainable lumber. 


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